10000
by pizza frustration
Summary: What do I do? Set the house on fire? Smother myself in peanut butter? Become a kitchen utensil? These things don't just happen naturally, you know. / a collection of stuff I will probably never finish. / RinLen / drabbles I guess.


a collection of things I have begun, lost inspiration in, and decided to dump here as terribly-written drabbles. most of them are weird, mainly because I wrote a lot when I was 14 and was in its romance/humour prime (now, a lot of the stories are in other languages or have been written by illiterate 12 year olds *sobbing* I may be illiterate but I'm not 12.)

I have more unfinished (I have a whole entire folder dedicated to JUST unfinished stories... except with a few finished ones I forgot to move out) stories, but some were too long (1,000-7,000 words long) or mean (like, kind of offensive. what is wrong with me) or inappropriate (many cursing. such wow) or angsty/very much unrelated to the themes of the other drabbles in here (or just stuff... I could never upload. because they're written so many times worse than these orz).

you might see one or two of these continued some time in the future. MIGHT. idk.

* * *

**SONGS**

You know that feeling when you get a song that you really dislike stuck in your head all day and the best you can do to put up with it is repeatedly sing the same lyrics over and over again under your breath? That's how Rin feels. But only, it's with Len's stupid, nasally, headache-inducing voice.

She doesn't even know WHY his stupid song is stuck in her head. Like, it's about the table of elements. AND SHE HATES CHEMISTRY. SHE HATES IT SO VERY MUCH, IT MAKES HER WANT TO HIT SOMETHING VERY HARD AND THEN BLOW IT UP WITH AN ATOMIC BOMB. So, yes. She's frustrated. She's confused. And she's angry at her stupid twin brother for being _exactly_ what he is—a stupid twin brother.

Why couldn't she have a twin sister? Or just no sibling at all? Why couldn't she have had a sensible twin brother, or a hermit twin brother, or a gay twin brother? But _no_, she got _Len_; the world's most annoying and idiotic _thing_ to exist in the history of the universe, who likes to sneak into her room and steal her bras and wear them on his head and pee with the toilet door wide open and pour water on her pants while she's sleeping so she thinks she pissed herself in her sleep.

WHY HER? WHY COULDN'T SOMEONE HORRIBLE—LIKE MIKU—GET A TWIN BROTHER—LIKE LEN? Isn't Rin's life already bad enough? She's so short and flat-chested she gets mistaken for a primary schooler when she's FREAKING SEVENTEEN. And then she has her brother—her ASSHOLE brother—who towers over her and picks on her for having non-existent boobs, which makes everything ten billion times _worse_.

It's like, _Oh gee, thanks thing-who-is-in-charge-of-making-people-siblings, that's VERY considerate of you. Extremely. _IT MAKES RIN WANT TO STRANGLE A PUPPY WITH LEN'S CHEST HAIR. ARGGGGGGH. _ARGGGGGGGGGGGH_.

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* * *

**ROOMS**

"WRONG ROOM, ASSFACE," is the first thing I say to my stepbrother in like a month, after he walks into my room at three o'clock in the morning and proceeds to lay down beside me on my bed. Len just about shoots up off the mattress, a distressed cry coming from his mouth, before proceeding to stutter out an awkward apology and skedaddling to his bedroom.

Stupid, dim-witted, smelly, ugly, warty, herpes-infested mothball. I swear to God, he has an IQ of like, 1.5. WHY WAS I GIFTED WITH A STEPBROTHER? Like, obviously I wasn't given a brother for a reason. OH GOD. JUST THINKING ABOUT IT MAKES ME WANT TO THROW MYSELF OFF A BRIDGE ATTACHED TO KAITO'S YEARLY ICE-CREAM SUPPLY. My life is so, so sad.

_Insert self-pity moment here._

Okay, so, now that I have dealt with dur-face, I can now roll over and go back to sle-

"Rin?"

ARGH I WILL MUTILATE EVERY PART OF HIS BODY AND SPRINKLE IT ON BANANA MUFFINS AND FEED IT TO MIKU'S CATS AND TEAR OUT MY HAIR IN FRUSTRATION AND SCREAM AND ARGGGGGGHHHHH. HE IS ASKING TO DIE TONIGHT. "_What is WRONG with you?_" I hiss, glaring daggers at him in the darkness although he probably can't see and neither can I.

"I, um… can't sleep…?"

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* * *

**wHATEVER**

I had made a bet with her, whoever could eat the most chocolate cake by the end of the night can be called God [insert name here], for the rest of their life.

Bad move. It was something else to add onto the never-ending list of _Len Kagamine's Bad Moves_. But you know, it was also inevitable. Really.

I won't go into details, but somehow it rounded up with both of us getting sick, as in, vomiting sick, and our mum's grudgingly approved of us having a sleepover because my mum despised the idea of driving a puking child home, and put forth the idea to pick me up in the morning (so she could probably go home and have deep-and-meaningful adult-sex with Dad).

Yes, I'm very well assured my mother is a bitch. I feel sorry for my aunt. I mean, not only was her child throwing up everywhere, she had to also look after me, who was very much in the same state as her daughter. Mum sometimes thinks about herself a little too much—like I do too; I won't try to be a hypocrite here or anything.

It was a really stupid idea for me to propose that challenge to Rin—I mean, she's my cousin, and I always felt slightly intimidated by her because her family suddenly moved to the same city my family was living in and my relatives adored her because she was the only girl and she was cute and I was a little shit and she had the tendency to boss me around, so I kind of wanted to show I could be better than her—though I doubt that can be decided on by whoever can eat the most chocolate cake.

I kind of regret it. Horribly. Not because I threw up all over my awesome new pair of Nike sneakers, but rather because I had to sleepover and it was just… _no_. No. God no.

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* * *

**BIKES**

Mum always started her century-old life-story like this:

"Well, Rin, when I was a kid I used to have a bike."

And then the problem is straightforward:

"One day I got hit by a car."

And really, she's right to the point with it all, too:

"So, because of that, I don't want you to have a bike because it's very dangerous. I don't want you dying on me." She finishes it with a somewhat proud look, and Dad just says nothing, looking kind of blank, as usual.

I stab my carrot. "But I'm not stupid and I'm not going to ride in the middle of the road where a car might hit me," I argue. "I have more chance of getting kidnapped and raped walking to and from school every day."

"But _Len_," she then rebuts.

"Yes, but he didn't get hit by a car," I throw back. I hate it when she does this.

"But he's dead. And now there's you. I don't want my children to both be dead," she explains.

Okay, so, I had a twin brother when I was five, but he died of leukaemia. It's not a very nice story, and I don't like explaining to people why there's this random blonde kid in almost all of my toddler photos, because yeah—it's just not a very nice thing to have to talk about.

Mum's still suffering like, mental problems from it, so she has this constant anxiety where she never lets me do anything without her permission. Also, due to my twin having leukaemia, I'd probably have a chance of getting it sometime soon, too. Not saying that I _will_, but it's definitely a possibility.

So Mum concludes that feeding me vegetables, fruit and gluten-free, dairy-free, refined sugar-free, preservative-free foods—just, yeah, all that 'healthy' stuff—will help prevent cancer. But I don't know. If it's in my genes, then…

The reason I would like a bike is because I would love to do some exercise, and, well, _live_. You see, I clearly don't. My mum refuses to even let me watch TV or use the computer or my mobile for more than like, forty seconds, because she fears that the radiation will set off the cancer gene and then I will just die.

Hey, at least she isn't the one who has the chance of dying here. At least she isn't the one who is like, imprisoned and never allowed to do anything, well, _normal_.

I consider hanging myself sometimes. It kind of just solves any problem.

I lick my lips. "Someday, you're going to have to just accept the fact that we all die eventually, Mum," I say, before getting up and dumping my half-eaten plate of healthy-death into the kitchen sink, and skulking off to my bedroom to read some boring poetry or something.

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* * *

**PERIOD**

I'm lying in bed, staring at the ceiling fan when my phone starts ringing. After two rings, I finally sit up and look at the caller ID.

_Rin_.

Why the heck is she ringing me? She's right next door to my room – if she wanted to talk, she could just simply walk into my room and start talking. Not waste her credit trying to call me. Good lord.

I let it ring out, sighing.

It starts up again three seconds later, so I snatch my phone off the bedside table and answer it, demanding, "What?"

"Len," she drawls. "I'm dying."

"Why? Is your heart palpitating? Are you short of breath? Is your head exploding?" I ask, not really concerned because she's just probably being melodramatic and trying to get me to make her lunch or something, because she is lazy.

She fakes a sob. "I'm in _pain_," she exaggerates. "My uterus feels as if it has just been shot."

Oh my God. Too much information.

"Rin, I'm a guy. I don't have any pity," I point out.

"I didn't ask to be a girl," she then cries.

"Why don't you tell Mum that," I suggest tiredly. Seriously, she acts like this every time. Surely she isn't _dying_. God. She's such a drama queen.

Rin then groans and says, "_Leeeeeeen_. Why can't you be a nice brother for once?"

"I'm sorry. I'm not a nice brother on Saturdays," I mention.

"UGHHHH," Rin says, destroying my hearing for a few moments. "I'M GOING THROUGH FUCKING LABOUR HERE, _DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT_."

Ah, the dragon has unleashed itself.

"No," I respond simply, before hanging up.

It's not long before she starts flooding my text message inbox with things like, _'YOU'RE A TERRIBLE BROTHER'_ and _'WHAT HAPPENS IF I END UP PREGNANT WHEN I'M SEVENTEEN AND THE FATHER DOESN'T WANT TO BE THE FATHER AND YOU HAVE TO COME INTO THE LABOUR ROOM WITH ME TO HOLD MY HAND WHILE I PUSH OUT A MASSIVE WATERMELON FROM A HOLE THE SIZE OF AN IPHONE MENU BUTTON'_ (which is kind of terribly more disturbing in thought and makes me want to choke her with condoms because no way in the world am I doing that disgusting shit. Never).

And then she starts sending me things like, _'PLEASE COME TO MY ROOM AND BE A NICE BROTHER I LOVE YOU'_ and '_DID I MENTION YOUR HAIR LOOKS REALLY NICE TODAY CAN YOU PLEASE COME TO MY ROOM_' and I just end up turning off my phone and going downstairs for brunch, because I'm mean.

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* * *

**COFFEE**

"I just feel like everyone's taking me for granted," Rin settles over lunch today.

Work colleague. We talk occasionally on our breaks. This is one of those days.

It's not that I don't like talking to her. I do like talking to her, a lot. She's nice. She's pretty. She's smart. She's all those things that I know I can't have. It just hurts to talk to someone like her; so _perfect_ in every way, while knowing that this is the closest I'll ever get to her. She has a boyfriend already. And they're oh-so-in-love. Whereas, I'm just a work colleague.

What I'm trying to say is that I have no chance with her. _Ever._

"Um," I say slowly. "I see. Have you tried talking to—to your family or friends or whatever?" The sad thing is, I also suck at being normal and human. I suck at being sympathetic. I suck at giving pep talks—or whatever those supportive things are called. I'm like The Emotionless and Ultimately Lame Grinch.

I go to take a sip of my coffee but then I somehow miss myself entirely and end up pouring the searing drink down my face, neck and shirt. Oh great. Wonderful, actually. Thank you, reflex skills. I wanted to pour hot-as-the-surface-of-the-sun coffee all over me, just so I can prove that I am utterly retarded to the Most Perfect Girl I Have Ever Met.

Rin starts to choke on her latte on realising what I had just done. "Oh God," she says. "Oh my God, Len—what are you doing?" What do you _think _I'm doing? She passes me a few napkins as I start to wipe down my clothing—including my work t-shirt, which I have to wear for the rest of the day—completely humiliated. She laughs at me, before leaning over and wiping my chin with a napkin. "What was that all about? Were you trying to feed your shoulder?" She grins; a beautiful, crooked grin. Even though it's crooked, it's goddamn perfect.

I feel my cheeks turn red. (Guys blush? Guys _blush?_ I thought girls only blushed. Why—why do I have to _blush?_ I feel like I have no dignity. This is unfair.) "Uh—um, no," I say slowly. "I just missed my mouth… casually."

Rin chuckles. "Right… right—you missed your mouth. Okay." She sips her latte, still smiling to herself. Meanwhile, I just look down at my shirt and blanch in mortification since there's this overly large and very much noticeable stain on my shoulder. Len, you've outdone yourself in the retardation factor today. Then Rin clears her throat and sets down her latte, resuming the conversation to the subject before the latter – "The thing is, I can't. I just suck at those sort of things—you know, blaming people or whatever. I don't like to make people feel bad."

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* * *

**CHANGE**

TO CHANGE OR NOT TO CHANGE.

That is the big question. Considering everyone around me is choosing to go down the inevitable path of swag valley with their hipster friends that party all weekend and get drunk to laugh their sorrows away, despite most of them laughing at the thought of even leaving their house after their curfew, it is quite the shock to see innocent people become pimps just over the period of a couple of weeks.

As for me, I don't know. Even leaving the house to go grocery shopping is a huge decision. I mean: _Do I have to get out of bed?_ _Must I get dressed?_ _Can't I just stay in here and sleep?_

_Forever?_

So like, will I too become the same as everyone else and hit the illegal alcohol consumption to become, well, 'cool'? The thought of me even going to a children's party is shocking. The thought of even _myself_ having a party for _me_ is terrifying. I mean, that takes effort. And clearly I have no motivation to give any effort.

I lost a best friend to THE BIG CHANGE. One second we were linking arms and playing Mario Kart, and the next, there's a billion pictures of her all over Facebook dangling off Kaito Shion, a senior, looking like she's on another planet.

I had hope in Miku. Clearly that is no more. She's a lost cause and even avoids my gaze in the hallway, always struggling to pull down her a-billion-times-rolled-up skirt that's hem is adjacent to her crotch, like she's ashamed to be this way in front of me or something.

Man, I just don't get the big deal. Why now? Why do people suddenly crave 'popularity' when it technically isn't popularity _anyway _and won't matter in two years' time? Being 'popular' doesn't give you a straight-A report card last time I checked.

It's ludicrous. I went through the crave for that so-called popularity in like, fourth grade. It wasn't even worth it. I just embarrassed myself and made a lot of people hate me.

What gets me is that everyone close to me is slowly drifting away, like they're getting estranged due to the sudden "I-want-to-be-cool" disease. Even my brother has gone all weird, locking his bedroom door and avoiding me, and sneaking out at unearthly hours to do God-knows-what.

Ugh, Len, why you too? You're cool just the way you are. Do you think smoking or poisoning your liver is going to make you any better? Now, maybe. In the next 30 years? Hi, you can meet your new friends at the hospital while you get radiated for having severe lung cancer. Congratulations!

I don't even know anymore. I wish there was a way I could escape this drama or fast forward these gross moments in my life. Maybe I'd have more reasons to get out of bed, then.

Ah, but yeah, at the moment, there isn't much to look forward to, but stacks and stacks of schoolwork. Anyone who enjoys that kind of stuff must be mental. I try to procrastinate homework as long as possible by staying in bed on weekends, even though that doesn't really make it better, since I still have to do it in the end anyway.

What is life, what is fun, what is motivation? I've seemed to have forgotten.

Mum thinks there's something wrong with me, the way I stay in bed until three or four o'clock in the afternoon. She keeps asking stupid questions like, "Are you sad?" or, "Is something bothering you, Rin?"

Yes I'm sad; I just lost a best friend to the immature stage of teenager life. Yes, there's something bothering me—it's called school and society, where I have to be social and do things I don't like. Please eradicate it.

I mean, yesterday, when I came home from school, she had this DVD she rented from the video store down the road, and it was one of those educational things they show at school usually in SEL lessons or whatever, titled, "Puberty Blues and Dealing With It."

She tried beckoning me to come watch this 'interesting documentary' so I just blurted out I had a headache and ran to my bedroom. She also tried it with Len, probably because she thought trying to snag him into it would help me be encouraged as well, but that didn't work, because he dry-reached after reciting, "Puberty _what?_ Isn't that like a porn show?"

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* * *

**COMIKZONE**

"This really blows."

Kaito exhales as we stare at the sign on the door of ComikZone.

"It's closed," I say in disbelief and astonishment.

"I can read, dumbass," Kaito replies, grimacing.

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* * *

**THINGS, IN WHICH**

Len spends most of his summer feeling rather depressed, and lies in bed most of the time staring at the cracks in the ceiling and wondering how they got there.

He doesn't really know _why_ he's depressed. It's beyond his head, for sure; but summer always brings this utterly dreary and irritatingly saddening feeling on him and he suddenly has the urge to decompose into his bed sheets or something.

Ah, but that's until his neighbour, Rin, comes over to suck up to his mother; in her usual summer attire which he will never admit aloud are pleasing to his eyes, and bug him to come out of his room so she has someone to destroy on Mario Kart or Just Dance. Then he just feels really annoyed.

Rin, unlike most girls, really doesn't bother with making herself look even partially presentable—not that Len cares, because she would probably look worse wearing makeup and a push-up bra—sometimes he's not even sure whether she's brushed her hair in the morning, but it's not like he could say anything, really (considering he just walks around half-naked in his boxers all day). Also, she tends to never cross her legs, crack every bone in her body and make sounds like she's having an orgasm, which causes Len to feel very, very uncomfortable—and when she speaks to him she always looks him _directly _in theeyes, like she's pledging a vow to him. Nevertheless, though, he would prefer to hang out with her as opposed to someone like Meiko or Miku, who are just really pushy and loud and always want to pat him on the head and treat him like a puppy.

She comes over, one summer morning, and bangs on his bedroom door loudly, before speaking in her unreasonably small voice at the loudest she can get it (which happens to be about normal speaking level for Len—she usually _whispers_ everything like it's a secret, and it's just… weird), telling him that she wants to go eat ice-cream.

He rolls over in his bed, grunting as he scans the time; about 11AM. Len frowns. Why does she even need to tell him that she wants to eat ice-cream?

Rin knocks again, harder, before saying, "Len, are you awake?"

No, Len is dead. He is not breathing. And he does not feel like ice-cream.

"_Leeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen_," she whines, all the while her tiny voice failing to sound the least bit annoying.

Len sighs, glaring at the ceiling. Why does she have to -? Ugh. It beats him. He doesn't even know why she even _talks_ to him. Like, he can't even summon up the word 'hi' without going through the alphabet and stuttering like a complete idiot.

Finally, after hearing a few more moans of his name—which are starting to sound more and more like the kind of moans you hear from porn, not that Len watches it… or anything—he gets out of bed and skulks over to his bedroom door, swinging it open.

Rin's sitting on the floor, fanning herself. Um, yep. Just make yourself at home. Seriously.

"Finally," she says exasperatedly.

He grimaces, before realising something… unusual. "Rin… what's that on your face?"

The blonde girl gives him a blank look while standing up. She wipes off her short-shorts. "What's what?"

Len points to his eye, manoeuvring his finger in a circular motion. "That," he points out.

She looks mildly offended. Well, oops. "It's—it's _makeup_," she responds, sounding hurt.

Len only has the willpower to raise his eyebrows in surprise. "Wow."

"Wow what?" she nags, following as he stalks down the hallway in the near-darn 40 degree heat.

"Wow nothing," he lies drily.

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* * *

**TRANSITIONS**

There was a time before the great transition from primary school into high school, before everyone grew different and awkward and hit that terrible thing we're all doomed for, puberty, when I had a friend—now known as the very popular Rin Kagamine.

If I tried explaining this fact to any old person, i.e. my unintellectual classmate called Kaito, I would probably be laughed at for forever, because it's hard to believe. _Me_, Len—dorky outcast Len—was friends with possibly the most beautiful and well-known girl in the whole school? _No_. I can't even string a sentence together properly without sounding like I'm mentally challenged. The only time a girl talks to me is when she wants to borrow an eraser or something.

Also, I look like my face has been smashed several times into a brick wall—which has happened to me, but I would rather not discuss that with any other human because it kind of brings back awful memories. And everyone knows Rin is just too beautiful to make friends with a person who looks like their face has been dismantled.

So. I'm still a little unsure about it all myself. I don't know what happened in that summer between year seven and year eight—whether the gods just simultaneously decided our friendship was over and we drifted apart, or Rin discovered she was actually _really good-looking_ and I was _really not good-looking_ and gave me the flick—I don't think I will _ever_ know. But that first day of year eight, we basically said hello before the welcome assembly, and that was _pretty much_ the last time we talked.

Oh, don't get me wrong, though—Rin is not a total complete bitch and it's not like we _hate_ each other, somehow—I mean, we still discreetly glance at each other in the hallways and share this smile or raise our eyebrows, and have this silent, short conversation with our expressions, so it's not like we're all of a sudden enemies. We just don't _talk_, because everyone knows it would be weird if we did and we both are unconsciously aware that having a friendly chat with each other will just attract unwanted attention that I kind of already _don't need_.

And plus, in addition to this transition to high school and puberty and teenagerdom, I don't think either of us would really _know_ what to talk about with each other, anyway. It's kind of like how I talk to Miki, this girl who I sort of am friends with and also sort of have a crush on—who happens to be _really_ nice, by the way—like, on Monday morning during homeroom, we really only say 'hi' and ask what each other did on the weekend before finding that we have run out of things to say and that it has now become extremely awkward between us. I don't really want the same awkwardness with Rin, because it's just, well, _horrifying_ in a sense, being confronted with the fact that we've changed so much in the past three years, despite being almost attached at the hip in our childhood, and that now we have almost _nothing_ to talk about with each other anymore.

I think Rin thinks that too, though. Well, I _hope_. And I'm sure she does. Because, well, we're well aware that none of us can really discuss how rich we are on MoshiMonsters anymore, due to the fact that a) we don't play it anymore and b) that topic is _really_ embarrassing when you're now a year 10 student.

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* * *

**STRESS**

You see, there's a tiny, teensy-weensy issue going about. Len has a problem—with himself, of course—and well…

There's nothing much else to it, really. He stress-vomits. Period.

Nervous for a date with one of the prettiest girls who have ever shown interest in him? He pukes all over her nice teal dress with sequin embroidery and pretty shit—turning it to, well, not-so-pretty shit.

Going to do an English speaking essay in front of his A-grade English class? Len just casually vomits all over the teacher and on the desk and the floor and himself—um, yeah, he didn't really go back to school for like, a month.

And there's… this girl.

"I'm going to help work you through this problem, Len," Rin tells him, wide-eyed, spelling out every syllable slowly, as she grasps his hands in hers. "We are going to deal with this disgusting… uh, vomiting issue—we are _fighters_—yes, we are bloody fighters. We are going to erase that vomit prompt like Jesus erases… I don't know; I sleep in Religion. But do you get me?"

Len nods, swallowing. "Yeah. Okay. Can we stop speaking about it? It's making me want to puke right now."

Rin shakes her head. "No. We are going to _talk_—talk with such vivacity and vibe and everything until you can get you stress-vomit-related-to-conversation under control. Okay?" He swears she thinks she's a psychologist or something.

"Not okay," Len responds, trying to distract himself from Rin's prods. He didn't know why he had to complain to Rin. She's a freak. She frigging… strokes people's hands and touches walls and sniffs shoes and _ugh_—she was just the only one sitting in the library when he was down in the dumps about everything, okay?

He's pretty sure she's a hippie, or like, some sort of weird medium… or, uh, yeah. She's just really creepy.

"So what usually makes you stress-vomit the most? School? Real life? Everything in general?" Rin asks.

Len throws his head back and groans. "Rin, can we please call it quits. Not today. Not ever. Just—never. I'm fine being a loser. It—I will find a girl who stress-vomits as well and we can have stress-vomit-y dates together and such, alright?" he tries to explain.

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* * *

**TOOTHPASTE**

Iroha seems to be bragging about her 'big weekend' at the beach on the way to school. "And yeah, this _really _hot guy came over and asked me if I wanted an ice-cream. I was like, 'Hell yeah!' so that's _exactly_ how we ended up making out. But then my dad full on flipped a table, 'cause, you know, he wants me to be the Virgin Mary and all, so it kind of sucked in the end…" she's saying, while buffing her fingernails. "Hey, Rin? Rin? Are you listening?"

I glance up from my skirt. "Hmm?"

She huffs. "You weren't listening, were you? You have that look on your face that says, 'I was just off in fairyland, painting the flowers.'" she states.

I love Iroha and all, but sometimes she just talks too much. About herself.

"I was listening," I say, "I was just looking at my skirt. See? I got toothpaste on it this morning. Is it noticeable?"

Iroha shakes her head. "Um, no. How did you manage to get toothpaste on _there_?"

"Uh… I clean my teeth…?"

And then she sighs. "Well, anyway, after that my aunt asked if I wanted to go shopping with her…"

I really don't listen to the rest of her conversation because I really _do not_ care. Period. Instead, I stare out at the window at the passing cars and people, wondering if this will be one of the last times I'm taking this bus to middle school – _as _a middle schooler. At the end of this week, I'll be graduating, and then I'll be a high schooler… It's scary how fast time has actually passed this time last year…

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* * *

**SUPERBIA**

Fishing, hitch-hiking, horse-riding and fencing are not my thing.

They are Len's. Yet I still have to do them anyway, despite being physically and mentally uncoordinated and weak, because "it's my job".

Sure. _Sure_. I am absolutely, positively sure it will be my job, when I'm theoretically to marry a handsome prince, spurt out satanic children and rule a kingdom far, far away, to have to hike in the wilderness, fight dragons and kill mermaids. Totally.

If that is true, I am going to _die_, and I am going to die with god damn _dignity_, because I can't even walk straight in high heels without breaking my ankle. I can't even—I can't even ride a horse without falling off and fracturing my arm. I can't even pick a rose without mutilating my whole hand. I just _can't_.

And look, Mum, despite how much you say, "You will never efficiently rule a country with that attitude—I 'can't' do this and I 'can't' do that." I'm afraid I really want to say—I don't care. I don't.

It's not like I really wanted to be born into royalty—where I'm supposed to sit on a throne all day and worry my ass off about doing a good job while bearing good children to be the future heirs of the kingdom, all the while look half-decent and be able to hitch-hike, horse-ride, fish and fence—because _it's my job_. It's not like I wanted to be also born with two left feet and a complete lack in physical stamina, either.

Therefore, maybe it'd be better off if I just die somehow, somewhere. Maybe if I wish hard enough or something. Maybe if I ask Len to accidentally stab me in the chest during fencing practise.

Oh wait, we haven't talked in at least six months—well, more than just the words like, "Good morning," or "I'm sorry," or "Excuse me," or "Bless you,"—because Len is being a downright selfish jerk. That's right. A downright selfish jerk. I said it, people.

I don't even know why! Like, what did I do? Breathe on him? Flip my hair in his eye or something? Not that I go around flipping my hair anyway—I mean, there's hardly anything to flip. But I just don't know what his problem is. He just _ignores_ me. It's so… weird.

I mean, prior six months ago Len and I were best friends. We had a great relationship. Even Mum and Dad had something to say about it. Dad had remarked on our tenth birthday once upon a time, "You two are almost like a married couple. Please stop. It's disgusting and strange." (He was only kidding—we aren't _really_ like that. But we are—_were_—pretty close, I guess.)

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* * *

**APPLY COLD WATER TO BURN WOUND**

I don't hate Len or anything. But I make it seem like I do.

It's just… weird. Okay? I can't really explain it. I don't hate him; it's the opposite—and I do it on purpose because…

Ugh. Fudgesticks.

I just decided to burn my hand off by placing it in my cup while pouring my tea. Way to go, Rin. I don't even know how I did that but—early mornings are just tough things to get through.

Christ, Len heard me cursing and now he's coming downstairs.

What do I do? Set the house on fire? Smother myself in peanut butter? Become a kitchen utensil? These things don't just happen naturally, you know.

Quickly, I jump into the pantry and burrow myself into the far corner, closing my eyes.

I have this thing that if I close my eyes, I also become invisible. But yeah, it doesn't really work, so…

"Rin?" Len calls. "Are you okay?"

Nope. My hand is on the verge of exploding, but it's A-Okay, because I can handle exploding hands. I mean, appendicitis is worse—and I've had that before… So.

I hold my breath as his shadow moves past the small cracks in the pantry door.

"Rin?" he calls again.

Something touches my arm. Something… that doesn't feel like it belongs to the category of 'food in the pantry'. I turn my head slowly as the something starts slowly making its way up my arm, and just die a little on the inside.

Spiders + Rin = screaming, crying and possibly a few broken objects.

I try not to freak out loudly or anything.

I knock over a few jars of jam and other things—oh man, sorry Mum. Then continue to trip over the vacuum cleaner—and then fall on the door, which swings open and causes me to land on the kitchen floor at Len's feet with a thud. I watch the darned arachnid scatter away, probably laughing from victory.

Len stares down at me as I grasp my head, wincing.

"Rin?" he says, kind of surprised I just, well… fell out of the pantry with such eloquence I could rival a princess.

I also sob as I realise my hand is still on fire.

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* * *

**SEMI-MELODRAMATIC**

It has come to my attention that Luka is a bitch, needs to stop throwing magical textbooks at my head and needs to stop being so grumpy all the time. Seriously—is she like, pregnant or something? Her emotions are just getting worse. And she seems to scream at me constantly for basically no reason.

Okay, so, I _may_ get occasionally distracted by the damn-attractive butlers my mother employs to quench her sexual desires—but it's not like I can _help it_. I mean, how can you _not_ ogle at those hunky bodies of total sexiness? Like, I _am_ a male-deprived female after all. Unlike Luka, who I swear is having an affair with the creepy Magical Minister (or whatever they call those thingies that have to do with magic and the government and such and such)—Gakupo or something like that—because I saw them making those gross, googly, lovey-dovey eyes at each other in the library the other day. I mean, Gakupo isn't a hunk. He reminds me of some awkward teenage girl whom obsesses over magic-things and sword-things and robe-things that make him look like some sort of priest from the 10th century.

(For a fact, it's the 27th century, so he's kind of seventeen centuries a-bit-too-late.)

So excuse me if I clicked my royal heels in joy when the queen's messenger—My Name is Piko, and Please Stop Touching My Hair—comes to announce that 'Queen Lily would like to have a word with Princess Rin', and Luka dismisses me 2 hours early from my torturous 'Princess-y Magical Basics' lesson.

"Mummy," I say quite flippantly as I venture into the gold-and-white-and-really-expensive castle lobby, aka throne room, to see Mum sitting in her throne, coming her hair and fixing her crown like she has a serious case of OCD. She glances at me once, before sniffing and waving me over in that very intimidating, queen-like manner. "What's happening?" I ask when I reach a suitable distance to start a conversation.

She sighs. "Rin, please do not, _ever_, say, 'What's happening?' because it makes you sound like you have been brought up in a farmhouse."

"Fine," I murmur. "_What is ever the problem, my queen?_" This time, I articulate in a refined tone; mocking how My Name is Piko, and Please Stop Touching My Hair speaks. Yes, he speaks like that. And he is like, a year older than me or something. What a poofter. Sheesh.

Mum sighs again, rubbing her forehead wearily. "I have received a letter from Crypton's Boy's Boarding School of Superiority and Excellence," she tells me. I don't know whether I want to know where this is going. I mean, is she going to make me cross-dress and go to an all-boy's _boarding_ school? Is she really that desperate to get rid of me? "It has advised me that your brother has graduated two years early from his course and shall be returning tomorrow noon."

I let out a breath of relief. Well, thank God for _that_.

Wait—_what?_

Oh, that's right; I have a brother. I think I temporarily forgot. Well, anyway, that explains where all the brains have gone in this family (Graduated two years early from his course? Psh—what a complete _nerd_). I just make this sound between a surprised, 'Ah' and a depressed, 'Oh', because I don't know whether I should either be excited or not excited about this. I mean, I haven't seen him since he was like… I don't know, _five_ or something. He could be a total… anal, jerky, superior and rude person, and make fun of me inheriting just the wonderful talent of being able to heal people with my hands, and not the actual decent thing to rule a country: intellectuality.

Should I also mention I am epic at singing? Like, the birds all line up on my window sill when I do my morning song while brushing my non-existent hair—then they poo all over my nice, marble-and-gold encrusted veranda. I like to think it is their way of giving me a tip—but because they are birds and don't carry money in their mysterious, bird pockets—they just crap to show me their generosity (and to give me great amusement when the maids complain about having to always clean up bird shat).

"I want you to be here by half past five, dressed in that gown you wore for your sixteenth birthday last year—_yes_, the white one with the yellow flowers—and prepared with your manners, because I want you to prove yourself at least decent to your brother so he does not assume I have brought up some bush pig," Mum continues tediously, yawning.

Oh, she just so _did not_ call me a bush pig.

"But that dress makes me look like a pavlova," I remark. It does. _Seriously_—it's all puffy and thick and horribly impossible to walk in without almost falling over. And me having to wear a dress that makes me look like a dessert in front of my twin brother whom I've been estranged from for more than ten years is _not_ the best first impression.

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* * *

**PAIRS**

Rin stands, paling in the face.

"No," she whispers.

Shock. Disbelief.

"No."

Her mouth runs dry.

"_N- _"

"Rin Kagamine, can you please sit down," the teacher says, shooting a glare at the student over her shoulder. Then she continues ruining people's lives, "Miku Hatsune, you're with Kaito Shion. Miki Furukawa, you're with…"

Rin slumps back down into her seat in defeat. _Len_. She has to work with _Len_, of all people, for her music project and that is just—_no_. God, why her? Why can't it be someone horrible who has to endure Len's wrath? Rin hasn't got the patience or the heart to put up with his bitchy attitude.

She steals a glance in his direction to see him grimacing at her. Stupid angry nerd. Out of all the people she could have been paired up with, it had to be _the stupid angry nerd_. UGH. WHY.

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* * *

**PING PONG**

Rin slams the paddle against the ball and the satisfying _kerthump _sounds as a battered ping pong ball falls to the ground before the wall. Then she retrieves the next ball-in-waiting, and repeats the process, a grimace on her face.

Len watches silently as the silent, seething girl continuously bulldozing every single ping pong ball in the packet beside her. She swiftly scoops one ball up, chucks it into the air and destroys it all the while hissing the words, "Motherfucking bitch of a dragon—burn in Satan's asshole, you stuck-up little _slut_." He doesn't know _why_ she's hurting ping pong balls. Or _why_ she's threatening someone under her breath. But she is, and he has the mind to be concerned.

"Rin," Len addresses cautiously, stepping closer—but not too close, otherwise she'd probably swing around and bat a ball at his face instead. "Are you okay?"

The girl twitches on the sound of his voice, hits another ping pong ball and responds with a short, bitter and curt, "No."

He clears his throat uncomfortably. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"No." She smashes yet another ball, not turning her head to even look at him.

Then he sidles quietly to the couch on her far left, to at least get a view of her face. Rin's cheeks are stained wet, her eyes are red, and her lips are turned back into a scowl.

She hesitates on the next ball and looks at Len for a split millisecond, before simultaneously sighing, continuing on with her abuse and asking exasperatedly, "What do you want, Len?"

"Uh," Len says intelligently. "Nothing—I'm just sitting here… watching you beat up the ping pong balls. Why are you bashing the ping pong balls?"

Rin narrows her eyes at him. "Take a guess, banana boy," she responds indifferently.

"You're angry at someone," Len offers, ignoring the insult.

"That wasn't a proposal for an answer. I just said that because I wanted to say banana boy."

Len frowns. "Oh."

She slams another ball, and realises she has only one left.

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* * *

**SMELLS**

Once upon a time, I think I may have thrown up in Len's t-shirt drawer. Don't tell him about this, though, because I blamed the cat. Also, I didn't want him to know I went into his room to sniff his clothing, because he might go all funny about it.

Boys go funny about _every_thing, though. Like that boy I had a really huge crush on in first grade—I may have possibly harassed him a little too much by confessing my undying love every three hours—he like, can no longer look me in the eyes or even speak to me properly, even though we're both now 17 and that was like, ten or so years ago. He just _changed_. It was pretty saddening.

But like, yeah. If I told him I had an obsession with the way he smells—moreover, his deodorant, because men's deodorant smells like JESUS and I don't think Len smells that good naturally anyhow—he would probably do the same thing that boy did in first grade. Go all weird. And I like what we have—our current hate-love relationship with is probably really normal for us step-sibling-things, where we have Nerf wars in the backyard and food fights in the kitchen—because usually brothers are supposed to be complete dicks who like, shit in your bed and that sort of stuff.

So, don't tell Len I vomited in his room. I can't help it I was sick at home alone while he was out probably playing hide the sausage with Miku in the back of his car and needed comforting.

"How could the cat make such a big mess?" Mum asks us miraculously when she arrives home from work and Len tells her about the spew-in-drawer incident.

"Well, it's fat and it eats a lot," I reason.

Len shrugs. "Yeah."

We all simultaneously look at the cat as it sits up on the cabinet in the hallway, licking its paw. I'm sorry Fluffy, but I had to blame you. My friendship with Len was at risk. But I do feel bad. I do.

Mum sighs tiredly, rubbing her forehead. "Whatever. I'll clean it up later."

"But my room reeks like shit!" Len protests.

"Then don't go in your room!" Mum responds curtly, before disappearing into the bathroom.

Len turns to me and grimaces. "Stupid cat," he mumbles. "I don't even know how it got into my room; I thought I closed the door."

I say nothing because I might seem too suspicious.

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* * *

**FIVES AND KNORKS**

Ugh. If there's anything I dislike the most, it's idiots.

Unfortunately, Earth tends to have a great range of these 'idiots', and it's quite hard to _not_ have one in your life. Or several, actually. It disappoints me. Why, out of all life in the solar system, does the most intelligent have to have the _least_ intelligent species thriving, too? Seriously—some people annoy me so much, I contemplate on stabbing them with a pencil.

Like I'm about to do to Miku Hatsune.

Her big ass is in _my_ face as she _sits there_, on _my_ desk, flirting away with another student I particularly hate, Mr I-am-perfect—Len Kagamine. She giggles, twirling a strand of hair around one finger. "Oh, Len-kun! You're so funny!" she chortles, batting her eyelashes as if she has something in her eye. Oh, for the love of god. Will you just_ get out_ of my personal space?

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* * *

**UM**

Apparently she set a desk on fire at school. _And_ spat at a teacher. _And_ threw a lamb's kidney at another student. _And_ got her nipple pierced.

But… yeah, I don't know. She's my sister, man. I kind of have no say in any of this.

"Len, hold the sign while I go to the bathroom," Dad says, shoving me the large and utterly humiliating piece of cardboard into my hands. I sigh. Pink glittery words face me, with flowers and unicorns and butterflies decorating the page—'WELCOME, RIN!' it says. I fight the urge to vomit. It was Dad's idea. Not mine.

I doubt a person like Rin would actually take the sign seriously. Dad has this stupid opinion that all girls like pink, glitter and unicorns—um, yeah. I don't know, Rin seems a little more into… skulls and death metal. Well, she might be. I haven't actually met her yet. I'm not sure I want to meet her yet, either. She sounds kind of scary.

Apparently Rin's practically grinded through every decent high school in her city and managed to get expulsed from every one, so Mum's shipping her to here—little, old middle-of-nowhere—hoping that the 'refined, country life' will do her some good. Um, country life isn't refined, but sure. I'd like to see how that goes.

So, yeah. Here we are—at the airport, holding a sign which looks like something made for a seven year old. This is just about as good as it gets.

I search the crowd as a group of people spill through the Arrival Gate. I glance at her most recent school photo on my phone, trying to memorise what she looks like, before looking back at the crowd, trying to find a 'short girl, with short blonde hair and blue eyes', who maybe looks like she's into skulls and death metal. I don't know.

The thing is, I've never really met Rin in real life. Our parents kind of… split when we were about two, and I can't remember anything from that age anyway, so it's kind of hopeless. The only type of contact I've just about had with her was on MSN when we were about eleven or something.

But then she put me on her block list for some reason. Maybe I sent her too many Transformers emotes—but they were _cool_, okay?

I don't know.

For five minutes or so, I'm standing there, staring at the crowd with a stupid piece of paper in my hands, wondering where the heck Dad is at because I'm literally kind of terrified of meeting Rin alone, when I feel this tap on my shoulder.

It's a gentle tap, like someone is afraid to touch me, and I turn slowly to see this girl.

She stares at me, one eyebrow raised. She's got short, blonde hair and blue eyes—and about a year's supply of makeup on her face. She's dressed in a baggy t-shirt and a pair of pyjama pants—or what look like pyjama pants—and these boot-like shoes with wings on them.

"Um," she says, kind of expectantly. "Are you Len?"

I shrug. "Are you Rin?"

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* * *

**FAMOUS**

"Rin Kagamine, what are your thoughts of your twin brother's exponential success in the music industry?"

The girl on the TV screen who's being targeted had widened her eyes and turned very pale.

"Rin Kagamine?"

"I -" Suddenly, the blonde heaves up her lunch all over the microphones shoved into her face, and the screen flickers back to the news reporter, with the headline underneath her, '_A Very Different Side to the Ever-Successful Kagamine Family_'.

I slide down the lounge in shame, hugging a pillow into my face. Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, do I bring to you the girl who blew chunks on national television—_me!_

I'm sorry, but as far as I'm concerned, I had the option to have my actual identity announced to the world—but _nay_, the CEO of Kagamine Records, Leon Kagamine, aka my father goes ahead without my permission, shooting off his mouth on a television interview with that not only does he have his _oh-so-famous and perfect son_, Len Kagamine, but also a _daughter_, the twin sister of Len who is completely and utterly hopeless at _everything_, Rin Kagamine (or Yamada, her mother's maiden name, which she had been using for the last _sixteen years of her life_).

Not only did he do that, but he didn't even _tell me_ at all that he had plans to reveal my true identity to the whole country. One day I was an ordinary, antisocial school girl, and the next, I'm being brutally attacked by paparazzi for being Len Kagamine's—_Japan's No.1 Hot Teen Singer's_—twin sister.

I just—ugh. As everyone totally knows now, I am very much the opposite of Len Kagamine, _Japan's No.1 Hot Teen Singer_—as in like, when people shove microphones and cameras in my face, I do not _speak_ or _sing_ or _smile_—I fracking regurgitate my stomach's contents.

The music industry and fame are the last things on my mind. I would rather spend my days cooped up in my room, buried under layers of blankets and reblogging pictures of cute dogs on Tumblr.

"Rin, honey," Mum says gently when she sees me curled up on the couch in foetal position holding a pillow to my face. "Just give it a few days and everyone will forget that that ever happened. Really."

I groan from behind my shield of shame. "People _never forget_ something embarrassing that happens on national television, Mum."

Mum sighs and I feel the couch sink down around my feet. Great. She's sat down—now she's probably going to give me a pep talk. "Rin, your father is working very hard to cover up that—uh, _hamartia_—for you so the media settles down eventually and forgets about it."

She said my fear of public speaking is a hamartia. _Why_. "What, after he decides to ruin my life he wants to try fixing it again? That isn't going to work."

"You know your father is sorry about that—it was bound to happen anyway -"

"Ugh, the fact that you're siding with Dad on this is _worse_," I interrupt. "Stop trying to talk me into thinking this is a good thing because it _isn't_, and I'm not going to be convinced no matter how many times you try, because you're in the shits, too."

Mum sighs again, and this is her frustrated sigh. I know I've won this time round. "I'm going to go call Leon," she tells me tiredly, and then gets up and leaves the room.

I throw a pillow at the doorway and groan loudly in retort. Rin Kagamine, daughter of the CEO of Kagamine Records and twin sister of one of Japan's most popular singers, _my ass_.

I turn my attention back to the TV, and change the channel, only to see the exact same report about me, just at a different angle.

_For the love of God_.

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* * *

**COOL**

A lovely day.

The sun is shining, the birds are tweeting and the neighbours are gardening in their underwear. Indeed, a lovely day it is.

It's a pity I hate the outdoors and am going to barricade myself in here for forever; well, until school starts up anyway. Summer break is gross. It's full of mosquitos, sunburn, random visits from annoying relatives, the smell of sweat, underdressed thirteen year old girls smearing makeup on every five seconds, and boredom. I hate it.

I also hate the fact that Len, another neighbour who is my age but acts like a two year old, tends to frequent at my house almost every day and sit in our lounge room playing Mario Kart without even _asking_ (if I wanted a game), and stand outside my door making animal noises all morning and banging his head against it in an attempt to let me into my lovely air-conditioned room—like he's doing right now.

"Riiii_iiiiin_," he moans. "I'm _melting_. Let me_ iiiiiiin_."

No, this is my room. You can melt and GTFO the face of this planet instead.

He only wants me for the air-con. And to stand behind me and stare at my computer screen when I'm trying to reblog things on tumblr. And constantly say, "I don't get that." Don't worry, darling; there are two types of people in this world—people who are cool, which are me, and people who aren't cool and will never be cool—which is _you_.

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* * *

haha. as you can see when I was 14 I loved putting Rin and Len in love-hate relationships woo.

some minor hints of incest that could be ignored, but there was no need to tag, because there was zilch action.

tomorrow is my first day of school (I live in Australia for people who are confused) and the only thing I'm looking forward to are the senior uniforms, I think. because they're nice and I finally get to wear one.

I know I should've posted an update to my other story but I didn't, I'm sorry, forgiveth me. my excuses are that I travelled to Sydney, got a Len wig and am making a Len cosplay (sewing. the horror. *screams*) I am so happy with the Len wig. I cosplay Rin too, but I think I personally suit Len better (it's sad I have to say that because I am a girl).


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